


Fruits de Mer

by yuiseau



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Baggage, M/M, Slow Burn, stay tuned
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:17:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuiseau/pseuds/yuiseau
Summary: Bucky Barnes sailed to Marvel on a mission to run away from his old life.Steve Rogers crash lands into Bucky's world in a weirdly patriotic sailboat.Whatever comes next follows.





	1. The Man

**Author's Note:**

> Please go easy on me, I have so many ideas but not enough willpower to write all the time. Bug the shit out of me if I don't update as often as you'd like.

Marvel is a gorgeous island. The lush plant life and white beaches drew Bucky in the moment he set his eyes on them. The ocean always called his name, but he never wanted to move so far away from home, until he set sail for Marvel and landed on the west side of the island. The townspeople have built rickety docks to welcome tired sailors and tourists. As soon as Bucky set foot on the creaking wood and listened to the quiet hush of the waves licking the shore, he knew he was a goner.

Luckily, the island has cell service. Not like he has too many people that want to contact him from the mainland, but Becca will call every now and then to see if he’s dead or not. His mother only calls on holidays. His dad avoids calling at all costs. Although Bucky lost most of his friends and family when he moved away, he doesn’t regret his decision one bit. Waking up every morning to the sun shining through his window and his research vessel bobbing at his personal dock is more than he could have asked for, and if he needed to ditch his family to achieve this happiness, he would do it again in a heartbeat.

No one knows him. Well, that’s a lie -- the townspeople know Bucky, but only the version that he wants them to know. Bucky walks to the market every morning in search of his daily bread, meat, fruits, and vegetables, sometimes treating himself to a jar of Natasha Romanov’s famous goat milk. He greets every shopkeeper with a killer smile paired with his undeniable charisma that could make a woman faint on impact. 

Too bad he doesn’t swing that way.

Getting lost in a new place is lovely, truly. Bucky hasn’t had to think about his problems for a whole year. Marvel has treated him well and he feels fantastic. 

Out on his vessel, he’s collecting samples of seawater to send into Stark Industries. They’re conducting research on the carbon dioxide content in the water in various places close to the equator, and need samples. Tony Stark contacted him a few days ago, calling in a favor, and Bucky doesn’t mind slapping a few stamps on a package to get on Stark’s good side. The guy’s helped him out in the past, so it’s the least Bucky can do. He lowers a vat off the side of his vessel and pulls the brim of his hat down to cover his face once the vat disappears under the water. The sun is beating down on his back, and Bucky used up the last of his spare sunscreen earlier in the morning. The breeze is making today dangerous for sunburns, and Bucky is prone to not realizing how pink he is until it’s too late. 

In an attempt to avoid burning the ever living fuck out of the bottom of his thighs, Bucky covers the closest padded chair with a flowery beach towel before sitting down and pulling out his latest book. The Marvel librarian knows Bucky by name since he shows up nearly every other day to pick up a few new books. Bucky lingers on the thought. The librarian is just a lanky, young kid with a huge grin on his face every time Bucky walks in the door. His name is Peter and he’s a big fan of comic books. Honestly, Peter’s just a big fan of books in general. The kid learned that Bucky loves to read memoirs and biographies, so every time Bucky pops in for a new read, Peter has three new books pulled out and summaries of each one taped carefully to the covers. Bucky likes that about the kid, he cares about the details. Yesterday when Bucky walked in with his library card in hand, Peter gave him a jokingly exasperated look with a, “You’re killing me Barnes. You’re gonna read the entire non-fiction section before I can order new books!” He smiles at the memory and opens the latest book Peter picked out for him and flips to the cover to read the provided summary again. It’s about a Mormon girl struggling to get out of Idaho to pursue an education. He shrugs and delves into the first page.

Reading was always an escape. Bucky could be riding the subway with thirty drunk and screaming frat boys, but if he had a book in his hands, he couldn’t hear a thing. His Ma used to read to him when he was younger. She would read books about dragons and wizards, and Bucky ate up every word of it until he realized there was something better than a fictional world. He started reading science textbooks for fun, eating up the knowledge the book provided him and yapping about it at dinner. His parents always accepted that he was a curious kid and nodded their heads whenever Bucky asked if they thought what he learned was “cool.” Looking back, Bucky wishes they would have nodded their heads encouragingly when he came out to them.

A growing disturbance in the water distracts Bucky from his pages. He’s adapted too much to the peace and quiet apparently, no more frat boys around for Bucky to practice ignoring. He marks his spot by folding his page and looks towards the source of the noise. A sailboat with a red, white, and blue mainsail disrupts the horizon. Bucky stands and stretches his muscles, shaking out his cramping foot. He’s never seen this boat around the island, but then again they do get many tourists each year, so it’s not that surprising to have a stranger visit Marvel. Bucky pulls his hat down and squints his eyes at the sailboat.

Something is… off.

The boat is coming a little too close for comfort to Bucky’s vessel, and Bucky can see the figure of a man frantically trying to pull his sails in. Bucky starts to panic and runs to the railing to see the sailboat closer. The rudder is sitting right next to the man on the boat, and the hull is filling with water. The man glances in Bucky’s direction and his face pinches in a sympathetic look, like he knows what’s about to happen.

“Hey!” Bucky calls, cupping his hands to his mouth, “You have to get that rudder back in the water to try to steer yourself clear!”

The man gestures wildly to the rudder in question, uselessly sitting next to him like a rotting fish. “This thing snapped right off! How am I supposed to get it attached again?”

Bucky’s heart rate picks up, gauging the distance between his vessel and the man’s boat. The man is coming in quicker than Bucky would like, since the breeze is blowing so hard today. He blows out a nervous breath and tries to stay calm. “Just pick the whole thing up and sit on the end of the boat. Hold it in your hands and turn yourself away from me!”

The man gives Bucky a disbelieving look as if he's crazy, but hauls the rudder over to the end of his sailboat. He plants his feet on the steps and shoves the rudder back in the water. Slowly, Bucky watches as the sailboat begins to turn to the right, closer to the shoreline, but it’s cutting it close to the bow of his boat.

“You’re almost there!” Bucky shouts, before mumbling, “Come on, come on, come on…” He twists his hands together anxiously, silently sending a prayer to whatever God is out there to spare his lifeline from getting smashed to smithereens. He feels like a sitting duck with his vessel anchored to the bottom of the ocean, and all he can think about is when the Titanic was sunk by a single iceberg. If this man sinks Bucky’s Titanic, there will be hell to pay.

The man glances over his shoulder and Bucky can see the fear etched into his features, he’s so close now. Just as the sailboat soars past Bucky’s vessel, missing the bow by only a foot or two, Bucky lets out a joyful whoop. The stranger raises his fist in victory and cries out also. 

“Sorry!” The guy apologizes, blowing past Bucky and getting whisked off towards the shore. Bucky just smiles and waves as he becomes an indiscernible dot along the coastline like the other beachgoers. 

Taking a deep breath, Bucky slumps back into his chair and folds up his legs so he can rest his head on his knees. If he lost his boat, he wouldn't know what he'd do. The vessel has thousands of dollars worth of equipment stocked on it, Bucky's entire life savings. If he lost the vessel, he'd lose his whole life. But he didn't, and everything is okay. No one was hurt, and everything is just fine. After breathing deeply for a few minutes, he gets up, pulls his vat back into the boat, and sets his course back to his dock. He’ll package his samples in tubes and send them to Tony tomorrow. He’s too exhausted to do anything else tonight.

Home is just an unassuming small shack on the coast. Bucky purchased it with the money had leftover in his duffel bag, and slept on the floor his first few months on the island. It was a change from his old life, but he has never once complained about the lack of air conditioning and hot water. That little shack is his home and he loves every creak in the floorboards. Bucky walks past the stray cat that always seems to be meandering around his yard and heads into his house. It’s stuffy from the heat of the sun, so he swings the wood covering the windows open and breathes in the fresh air. His stomach rumbles and the stray cat strolls through his door, looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah, I know. I’m hungry too,” Bucky sighs, and opens up a cupboard. He has a few cans of beans and soup, the other shelves barren. The stray meows in a disappointed way, and Bucky scowls. “Well sorry, Mr. Pissypants, I didn’t go to the market today. Guess I’m not really in the mood for this shit either.” Bucky closes the cupboard and goes searching for his wallet. The walk into town will only take about ten minutes but Bucky grabs his spare sunscreen and applies a coat anyways. The sun is still relatively high in the sky and Bucky would like to avoid skin cancer, thank you very much.

The stray cat follows Bucky down his winding dirt path of a driveway, keeping him company. Bucky wants to laugh at the situation, that one of his only friends on Marvel is a random stray that won’t leave him alone. In New York, Bucky was one of the most popular kids at school. He had flawless grades, a great home life, and knew he was handsome as could be. The girls threw themselves at him while the interested boys pined from afar, keeping a suffocating distance between them and Bucky. It was intoxicating being the center of attention. Bucky needed it like a drug, until he didn’t.

The he set sail hundreds of miles away from his hometown and his family to pursue some crazy lifestyle in the middle of fuck-knows-where. 

At least the cat can’t talk back, just silently judges him when he doesn't have food stocked in his pantry. When Bucky glances down to tell his comrade how much he appreciates his willingness to listen to Bucky vent about his stupid problems, he finds the stray cat has left him and he is on the outskirts of the town. Two children fly past on rickety bicycles, hollering at each other and steering with no hands. A goat bleats to his right as he passes Natasha’s farm. He considers what he wants to eat for dinner and heads towards the bakery since that’s the closest place to him.

The bakery, besides the library and the open ocean, is one of Bucky’s favorite things about the island. The outside is dilapidated and falling apart, but once he steps through the swinging door and breathes in the scent of fresh baked bread, it’s like he has walked into heaven. Bucky can’t help but close his eyes and take a second to appreciate the moment before addressing the shop owner.

“Hey, Clint. How was business today?” Bucky asks, eyeing the man behind the counter. His hair is cropped, unlike Bucky’s, and he always seems to be covered in flour. Clint turns around, a terrified look on his face, before he spots Bucky and lets out a huff of relief. 

“Oh thank God, I thought you were someone else,” Clint says, clapping some flour off of his hands. “Business went as usual, just didn’t see my favorite hot piece of ass this morning.”

Bucky chuckles. “Well, this hot piece of ass had work to do off land. Any chance I could get some sourdough from you on a bargain?”

“Ooh, what kind of bargain are we talking, Barnes?” Clint teases, heading to the back of the bakery. Bucky has to shake his head and laugh.

“How about I pay double the price and you stop flirting with me every time I set foot in this place?” Bucky tries, faking the hopefulness in his voice. He would never admit it out loud, but the teasing is fun. It makes him feel like he has a friend in Clint.

“Ha! Funny joke you have there. How about I half the price and make kissing noises behind your back when you’re not looking?”

Bucky pretends to consider the offer for a few moments, placing his index finger on his dimpled chin. “I don’t know… I guess I can accept that.”

Clint walks back behind the counter with a brown paper bag and rings Bucky up. Sure enough, the bread is half its regular price and when Bucky thanks Clint and leaves the store, he can vaguely hear Clint kissing the air behind him. Bucky just smiles and holds his tongue.

His next stop is Wanda and Pietro’s shop, where they sell their catches of the day. Importing meat is expensive, so Bucky usually sticks to eating the local fish. The Maximoff twins gave grown on him from when he first arrived. The first time he entered their shop, they circled him like sharks, asking him where he came from and where he was headed. He was too traumatized to return for another few weeks, but they had accepted him as just another local by that time. Unfortunately, walking through their shop’s doors didn’t give Bucky as much delight as Clint’s. Fish aren’t nearly as aromatic as fresh baked bread. Wanda is the only one behind the counter today, which makes Bucky frown in concern because there has never been a time when the twins haven’t been side by side. The girl looks up and him and tries to plaster a smile on her face that falls short of her eyes.

“Heya Buck. What can I get for you?”

“An explanation on why you look like your dog just got hit by a car?” Bucky tries for humor, and Wanda’s mouth quirks up a little.

She scratches the back of her head before pulling a lock between her fingers and twirling it. “Pietro went off to help that poor guy that crashed into the docks this morning. Have you heard the news?”

Sounds like the man that almost slammed into his vessel. “No, but I did have a guy almost his my boat this morning. Maybe they’re one and the same?”

“Possibly. His boat was pretty beat up, I heard,” Wanda explains, “The hull was basically holding on by a thread once he was safely on shore.”

“At least he wasn’t badly hurt,” Bucky says, not wishing harm on the man. He seemed nice enough, even as his sailboat was hurtling towards Bucky’s vessel at top speeds.

“Yeah. Pietro went out to check and see if he needs a place to stay. We’re going to offer for him to stay upstairs with us, since we have a spare room,” Wanda says.

Bucky points out an already made pâté and Wanda packages it up for him while they talk. He notices the hunch in her shoulders that is usually absent while she works. 

“So why are you so down in the dumps today?” Bucky asks.

Wanda rolls her eyes. “Pietro told me I wasn’t allowed to go out and talk to the guy. If anyone should go out to console some stranger that crash landed onto this island, I think I would be more fit for the job. Wouldn’t you agree?” Wanda asks, vying for Bucky to take her side on the argument.

“Uh… I think you both have your strong suits and maybe Pietro just wanted to practice his people skills,” Bucky says, hoping it’s the right answer. Wanda nods her head and gives him a calculating look before sliding the small package over the counter.

“Thanks, Buck. I think I was agitated over nothing. The pâté is on me. Tell that little rascal cat of yours that I say hi.”

Bucky promises that he will, and opens the shop door to head on home. Just as the bells above the door jingle, the door flies open and Pietro storms in, a strange man trailing behind him.

“That sun is going to be the death of me!” Pietro complains, sliding down into a chair near an air vent. He removes his cap and basks in the air conditioning, ignoring everybody else in the room. Wanda shoots Bucky a look and purses her mouth. Bucky just shrugs and smiles before turning his attention to the man Pietro brought with him. He’s taller than Bucky thought, with broad shoulders and bright blond hair. His biceps look like they could smash trees and his thighs could crush Bucky’s head. In other words, the man is drop dead gorgeous.

Bucky is staring. His mother always told him it was rude to stare, especially if it is someone different from yourself, but this is a good different. A fantastic different. A wildly hot different. Bucky reigns in his thoughts and looks at the man’s face. His jaw is chiseled and his eyes are crystalline blue, with an endearingly crooked nose and full lips. Oh, Bucky is already so far gone.

“Nice to meet you. Bucky Barnes,” Bucky offers his hand to the stranger, and is surprised by how warm the man’s hand is enclosed in his own. He has a hard time letting it go.

“Steve Rogers. I just crashed my boat.”

His voice is like honey, and Bucky must have just realized how low and beautiful it is now that he’s not frantically yelling about his rudder being snapped off his boat. Bucky musters all the charm he has in his body and shoots the guy his trademark smile. 

“Pretty sure you almost crashed your boat into my boat, my friend,” Bucky jokes. Steve’s eyes widen in recognition and he immediately starts apologizing.

“I’m so sorry to put you through that. I mean really, some guy comes rolling in from the North heading straight for your boat, I’d be pissed too.”

Bucky cuts him off with a laugh. “No harm done, just water under the bridge. All is forgiven.”

Steve looks unsure, but Bucky just tightens his grip on his package and starts backing towards the door with a little salute. Wanda senses the end of the converstaion and swoops in to drag Steve towards the stairs in the back of the store that lead to the living space above. When Bucky looks back through the windows in the doors, Pietro cracks his eyes open and winks at Bucky, making a little flame hand motion while mouthing “fire.” Bucky can’t help but laugh. 

For a year, the island has been a secret getaway where Bucky can blend in and forget himself in his work. He can lay out on the beach during the dark hours of the morning and listen to the water lap at the sand, he can watch the sea turtles hatch and crawl towards the moon into the black ocean. Moving to the place where the sand meets the sea has been one of Bucky’s greatest ideas. It’s simple, and he loves it. Life has always been routine here.

The white sands of Marvel just got a little more interesting with a certain blond haired man walking its shores.


	2. The Question

Bucky wakes up to the soft pitter patter of rain outside and a steady stream of water dripping onto his cheek. He meant to patch the ongoing leak in his roof a month or two ago, but never quite got around to it. Maybe this will be the final push to go into town and tool up with some strong duct tape to cover the leak, but it's also Sunday and Bucky doesn't feel like doing shit on Sundays. 

He rolls over to grasp for his phone on the bedside table, groaning when he sees a few missed texts from his Ma. Skimming the long paragraphs, Bucky finds that she is mildly irate that he did not call his father to wish him a happy birthday, and that he's a disappointment to his family. Bucky smiles at that last sentiment, the weirdly familiar feeling of home seeping into his tired body. He likes that one. Screenshotting the miles of text and sending it promptly to Becca with five question marks and a winky face, he rolls out of bed and begins to prepare for his lazy Sunday.

Soft linen pants are a must-have to make the perfect Sunday. “If the pants don't fit, the day will be shit.” That's what Becs used to tell him every morning as he struggled to pull up his ridiculously skinny jeans. Now he sees what she was getting at -- she's a fucking genius. Linen shorts are his go-to. He pulls on a plain white shirt that somehow is softer than all of his other shirts and brushes his teeth before staring in the mirror for a few seconds. He looks like a mess and he knows it, but so does the rest of Marvel on Sundays. It's basically the get out of jail free card for fashion. 

The sky is beginning to clear as Bucky slams his door open with his hip, hands full with two large baskets. He doesn't own a car, like most of Marvel. Clint has a fancy motorcycle that he rides alongside Sam Wilson's, but the rest of Marvel relies on their feet to get them where they need to be. The stray cat tangles his body around Bucky's legs, almost making him trip with the weight of the baskets.

“Motherfu- Can you scram?” Bucky says, agitated. The stray just stares up at him with muddy green eyes until Bucky gives him one last glare and turns on his heel to head towards town. It's been two days since his last excursion and he's sure Clint is going to burst if he doesn't spit out another flirtatious joke in less than 24 hours. Bucky's heading into town to spare him from his own doom.

The sun is peeking through the thin clouds by the time Bucky knocks on Natasha's door. He sets a basket on her patio and rubs out his hands that are sore from carrying a clunky load such a long way. He can hear some mild Russian cursing from inside the house before the lock unlatches and Natasha is standing in front of him, eyes glazed, hair matted, and wearing her polka dotted pajamas. She still looks just as beautiful as she does when she puts makeup and a killer dress on.

“Milk?” She grumbles, as if she didn't already know.

“Only from the best,” Bucky replies, and watches Natasha disappear back into the house. He stands on her porch and watches her mother knit an extremely long scarf from their living room couch. 

“Hi Mrs. Romanov!” Bucky calls to her. She doesn't turn to look at him, so Bucky assumes he's being ignored by the old woman or she literally couldn't hear him. He doesn't try to greet her again, either way.

Natasha turns the corner with a jug of milk cradled in her arms like a baby.

“It's the same price as usual,” She says, handing the jug over. Bucky pulls a bill and some change from his pocket and hands it to Natasha. She raises an eyebrow at him, as if she just took in his appearance. “Isn't it lazy Sunday? Why do you look so chipper today?”

Bucky shrugs. “I always look like this on lazy Sundays. Maybe you're just not as observant as you'd like to think you are.”

Natasha's eyebrows knit together as if she's solving a wildly complex math problem. “But… that can't be true-”

“Gotta go, see you around Nat!” Bucky leaps off her porch steps with an extra spring in his step. 

He walks across the dirt road to Clint's. Unfortunately, there's a crowd lined up today since he decided to pick up his bread bright and early. Bucky isn't familiar with everybody living on Marvel, but he knows friendly faces when he sees them. As soon as the bells jingle on the door, ten people turn to give him a welcoming smile. Bucky just readjusts his baskets in his arms and gives them a tight smile back. Once they all turn their attention back to Clint at the register, Bucky takes in a deep breath and relishes in the sweet scent of baked goods. 

While his family could be a pain in the ass at times, his Ma was always the best baker in town. Block parties were common in his subdivision, and the talk of the town was Winifred Barnes' bread. Along with her homemade dips, her bread could attract the whole town to the party, whether they lived on the block or not. Bucky remembers loving the smell of his mother's bread when he woke up in the morning, cracking his eyes open against the light. It reminds him of home.

Now, Bucky just settles for Clint's bread. He would never admit that it comes in second to his own mother’s.

He moves closer to the front of the line as the bells chime above the door again. Customers keep rolling in, but Bucky doesn't follow suit to smile at every single one like the others do. He just wants to get his bread and move on to grab his other essentials before he can get back out on the water.

When the customer in front of Bucky hands Clint some change, the man's face morphs into a happy smile.

"Barnes! How's it going, my main slice?"

Bucky throws Clint an unamused look and places a few bills delicately on the counter, attempting to avoid dropping his baskets in the process. “The usual, please.”

Clint is already walking to the back as Bucky speaks. “Coming right up, babe!”

While he waits, Bucky turns on his heel to look back at the line to see how long it has gotten. The baskets are stacked in his arms, so he has to cock his head to the left to peek around. 

He wishes he didn’t do that.

The new guy -- Steve -- is standing next to Wanda near the back of the line, laughing. His blue eyes are crinkled with mirth and he has his head thrown back, exposing his neck. Bucky snaps his mouth shut to avoid drooling. Steve may be the most attractive human being he has ever set eyes on.

“Bucky? You good?”

Bucky snaps his head around so fast he gives himself whiplash, and stares into Clint’s confused eyes with his own wide ones.

“I’m good. Why wouldn’t I be good?” Bucky says before spotting his usual sourdough laying on the counter. He offers Clint an unsteady smile and tucks the bread into his basket next to Natasha’s milk. Clint is still looking at Bucky like he’s speaking a foreign language, so Bucky gives him a short wave before ducking away from the counter. 

“See you around, then!” Clint shouts after him. Bucky grips the baskets in his hands tighter and wills himself to not look at the gorgeous man he knows is standing just a few feet away, but he’s never had that strong of willpower. He glances over his shoulder as he opens the door to leave and, as expected, Steve’s blue eyes are trained on his ass. The blond’s eyes widen when he looks up and sees Bucky looking back at him, before flushing a lovely shade of pink and turning to face Wanda. Bucky just smirks and steps back out into the sweet breeze of the morning air.

After finishing his morning shopping, Bucky finds himself untying his vessel from his dock, now stocked with lunch and dinner so he has no need to come back to shore. Today he plans on staying out and placing a few new devices sent to him by an up and coming company. The company is focused on reducing plastic pollution in the oceans, so they created a device that is capable of sorting plastic from organic matter and separating the two to either be released back into the ocean or held until the company can get people on Marvel to clean them out more often. Bucky is helping Marvel be their guinea pig project, and agreed to step in as the cleaner for the time being. They’re paying him good money to check up on the devices every few weeks to make sure they’re still running and functioning properly with no clogs. The pay is good, but the satisfaction of helping Marvel stay clean may be better incentive than any amount of cash.

As his vessel heads to his first point, Bucky pulls on his scuba gear. The flippers make him feel like a big, clumsy penguin. He double checks to make sure his oxygen tank is ready to go before dropping his anchor and grabbing one of the devices. The device is just a little metal tube, nearly the length of his arm. Bucky makes a mental note to ask the company what material they’re making the devices from and whether it’s being ethically sourced. It matters.

He steps off the side of the vessel and is plunged into the blue waters surrounding Marvel. At first, bubbles cloud his vision but then slowly dissipate for Bucky to see why he loves this island so damn much. There’s a school of fish darting past his boat, skittish and searching for something to eat. The sun makes the sea floor look like it’s dancing with color, bringing out the reds and blues of the native corals. If Bucky could smile around his mouthpiece without choking on saltwater, he would. This particular sight never gets old to him.

He swims down to the sand and remembers the company’s directions for initiating the metal tube. He struggles with flipping a panel open but then finds a green button inside that causes the device to emit a low buzzing noise when pressed. Bucky assumes that means it’s working. He looks up to the sun beaming through the water’s surface before furrowing his eyebrows.

There’s another boat right next to his own, albeit smaller. It looks more like a shitty rowboat that tourists often rent to ride on tours around the island. Bucky can’t see any movement from the rowboat from down underwater, but if a tourist is dumb enough to try and steal any of his equipment, they’ll have hell to pay. He uses the seafloor to his advantage and pushes up as hard as he can, utilizing his flippers to break the surface. He spits out his mouthpiece and lifts his goggles to get a better look at the rowboat bobbing in the water.

Steve is sitting cross-legged in the rowboat holding half of a sandwich in one hand. He gives a little wave with the other.

Bucky wants to punch him in the throat for making him panic. Or maybe just kiss him really, really hard. It’s a tough pick between the two.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Bucky sputters, out of breath. He treads water for a few moments before swimming around Steve’s rowboat to get to his vessel’s ladder. Steve follows his movement the entire way.

“I thought I would drop by and say hello,” Steve says carefully, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Wanda said you’d probably be out in this area today. I thought you could use a little company.”

Bucky is dripping like a wet rat when he pulls himself up onto his boat. He grabs the least embarrassing towel he owns from underneath a seat and dries his hair and attempts to tame his mane from getting too poofy. Steve just stares up at him from his rowboat. 

“What makes you think I need company?” Bucky asks, facing away from Steve as he peels his skin tight shirt off. The sun hitting his skin immediately fills him with warmth until he replaces his clothes with a fresh and dry white shirt.

“Uh… I’m not sure. Maybe you wanted to be friends?” Steve tries, sounding unsure. Bucky looks back at the blond man who is now playing with a strap of his sandals. He huffs out a breath.

“I’ve got the sun, my boat, and the great big ocean to keep me company.”

“But no people.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I suppose not.”

Steve angles his head upwards and squints against the sun to give Bucky a pointed look. The idiot didn’t bring a hat or anything with him. Bucky can see Steve’s shoulders starting to turn a dark shade of pink so he decides to have mercy on the guy.

Bucky shakes his head and sighs. “Tie your boat up to mine and hop on. You’re getting burned.”

Steve looks ecstatic and hops into action, pulling his dingy twine rope into the rowboat and reaching for the railing of Bucky’s boat to latch onto. Bucky doesn’t comment on the other possible anchor points Steve could have tied into, he just holds his tongue and watches the lanky man try to pull himself up onto the deck. After a thirty second struggle with the railing and getting his pants snagged on a bolt, Steve is sprawled out across Bucky’s deck wearing a happy grin. Bucky rolls his eyes and grabs a spare hat and sunscreen from the glovebox. He tosses both of the items at Steve, the hat landing softly on his chest and the sunscreen hitting a second later with a hollow smack. Steve groans and looks at what Bucky has given him.

“What’s this for?” Steve asks.

“Arts and crafts, Steve. What do you think? You’re going to get destroyed by the sun at this rate. Put both on and then I’ll show you around. There’s not much to see.”

Steve pulls himself up into a sitting position and flips the cap of the sunscreen off. That really shouldn’t affect Bucky as much as it is, but he’s been fucked enough to have a Pavlovian reaction to lube getting snapped open that his brain doesn’t distinguish between sex and sun protection at this point. He’s not a whore, he just liked to have fun sometimes. Okay, a lot of the time.

He’s not like that anymore.

Steve pulls on the hat, which makes him look like a little boy scout. It’s a bucket hat Bucky bought as a gag gift for Clint’s birthday that was re-gifted to him for Christmas. On top of the camouflage print sits an embroidered, “Mommy’s little pumpkin.” Bucky tries not to burst out laughing at the sight.

“Do you mind if I use your phone? Mine has no service out here and Wanda wanted to make sure that I made it here okay.”

Bucky shrugs, “I didn’t bring a phone with me, plus I don’t have Wanda’s number.”

Steve frowns at his phone screen one last time before his face melts into a smile. He makes a show of brushing off his shorts and his hands and asks Bucky, “When does the tour start?”

Bucky turns and walks to the small cabin, knowing Steve is following by the sticking of his sandals to the floor. The cabin was originally built to be just that -- a cabin -- but Bucky has modified it since he bought the boat. He kept the small twin sized bed in place, just because naps are sometimes necessary on the job, but the rest of the room is changed to hold all of his gear. To an outsider, the cabin looks impressive. To Bucky, it simply looks like home.

Steve looks around with a face full of wonder. “Wow, this is a lot to take in. What is all of this stuff?”

Bucky vaguely shakes his hand at the walls lined with science equipment. “Mostly measuring equipment, I have a few gadgets I’ve made myself that gather sediment and water at the bottom of the site I’m studying, but other than that it’s just normal science shit that would bore you.”

“You’re not boring me,” Steve says.

“You’ve known me for less than a day, Rogers,” Bucky deadpans back. Steve doesn’t seem phased as he runs his fingertips along the right wall, catching on ropes and metal edges. He stops at some glass tubes. 

“What are these used for?” 

“Mainly water samples,” Bucky explains, putting his hands in his pockets. “You toss them down and analyze what you get. Sometimes I send them out to companies that want a census on how the water quality is. I just sent one to Stark Industries a few days ago.”

Steve looks at Bucky with wide eyes. “You work for Stark?”

Bucky scoffs, “I would never put myself through that hell. I’ve known Tony for a while, ever since we were just kids. I owed him a favor, he called one in. Simple as that.”

Steve seems to take that answer at face level, turning his attention back to the cabin one last time before asking, “Can this boat get any more awesome?”

“That’s nice, coming from the man that was flying at light speed towards it yesterday,” Bucky jokes, nudging Steve’s arm. Oh god, he’s muscular. Bucky is so fucked.

Steve breaks into a smile and throws his hands up in surrender. “I’m sorry I lost control. If I knew all of this was here, I would have steered into a different boat.”

Bucky snickers and cocks his head towards the door, “Come on, I’ll show you my favorite part.”

Steve follows Bucky like a lost puppy out of the cabin and back onto the deck. Bucky is barefoot, so he slips on a shitty pair of flip flops he bought from a little girl in town a few weeks ago. They’re handmade from molded rubber and braided string and Bucky loves them, even though they provide no support and he’s had to reconnect the strings several times. Steve says nothing about his footwear choice but Bucky can feel his eyes taking the flip flops in. At least the guy isn’t an asshole.

“I always bring a towel and shoes when I go up here, because the surface can get pretty hot,” Bucky explains, tossing a floral towel towards Steve. The pattern is studied for a few seconds by the blond man and then tucked under his arm. 

“All right, where are we going?”

Bucky points to the ladder that leads above the cabin. “My very own lookout.”

Bucky goes first, climbing the ladder with no problem. When the sky is overcast, it’s wonderful weather to climb up and take out a book to get lost in. The other people on Marvel have a joke that Bucky has no fear, seeing how storms in Marvel are not joking matters. The peaceful quiet of being the only boat on the water is worth their judgement. Besides, it usually doesn’t rain. Usually.

Bucky doesn’t realize how long he’s been standing on the landing until Steve speaks up with a quiet, “This is beautiful.”

The view is better with the longer sight distance. Closer to the coast, sailboats line the horizon, lazily swaying back and forth with the waves. The island itself is green and beautiful, dotted with the rainbow of beachgoers and their colorful cabanas and towels. Although the island and everything surrounding it is gorgeous, Bucky’s favorite thing to watch has nothing to do with the island. He sets his towel flat on the hot surface and lays down on top of it. Steve gives Bucky a confused look until Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“You’re missing the show,” Bucky says, pointing up past Steve’s head. Steve looks up for a few moments and shakes his head sadly.

“I don’t see anything.”

“That’s because you’re doing it wrong,” Bucky huffs, signalling for Steve to lay the towel down. The blond man complies and lays his towel next to Bucky’s before spreading out, shoulder to shoulder. Bucky smirks.

“Do you see now?” Bucky asks.

The clouds from the morning are fading away, leaving pockets of interestingly shaped bundles here and there. Bucky turns his head to look at Steve, who has a gentle smile playing at his lips. 

“I see it.”

They lay there for a long time, whispering about which clouds look like dinosaurs and shovels so as to not disturb the peace. Bucky appreciates that about Steve. He seems like a shitshow and a half when you first meet him, but Bucky must admit, slowly but surely the clumsy blond is growing on his cold, dead heart.

Steve smacks Bucky’s arm lightly, pointing at a particularly puffy cloud. “Look at that one, it looks exactly like a dragon.”

Bucky cocks his head to the right and squints. “I guess I can kind of see it.”

“You need your eyesight checked if you can’t see that glaringly obvious dragon in the sky,” Steve jests. 

“Oh fuck off,” Bucky says, and sits up. He adds regretfully, “I have to get back to work soon.”

Steve groans as he sits up, hanging his head between his knees. “Do you really have to, though? What’s stopping you from taking your boat and running away forever? Then you won’t have to work a day in your life.”

Bucky can’t see Steve’s face, so he watches the hard planes of Steve’s back flex. “I hate to break it to you, but how do you think I got here in the first place?”

Now Steve’s head is resting on his knees, facing Bucky and his eyes are interested. “You weren’t born here?”

“I wish,” Bucky mutters as he grabs his towel and moves towards the ladder. “Came here for a better life, and that’s exactly what I found.”

“You fit in so naturally, you never would have guessed,” Steve says, following Bucky’s lead.

Bucky takes that as a compliment. He’s worked hard to connect with a few people on the island that make his life flow smoothly and it’s nice to have that effort noticed by a stranger like Steve. In a few years, Marvel won’t know Bucky as the new-ish guy, he’ll just be Bucky. That’s all he’s ever wanted to be. Just Bucky.

When they make their way down onto the deck, Steve hesitates at the railing near his rowboat. He grips the metal in one fist and opens his mouth a few times, seemingly at a loss for words. Bucky just plunks down in a chair and watches Steve open and close his mouth like a fish. It’s a fun game, watching a tall man with huge muscles hesitate like a little boy asking a girl to dance with him. Finally, Steve finds his train of thought and turns to Bucky, a little red in the face.

“Uh, so this might be kind of weird, but Wanda and Pietro are having a birthday party this weekend. Their birthday isn’t until next Monday, but they invited me to tag along and a few other people from town that I haven’t met yet,” He takes a deep breath before continuing, dancing his fingertips lightly against the railing nervously. “Wanda said I was allowed to invite anyone as long as they aren’t a psychopath, which I’m pretty sure you aren’t. That’s only if you’d like to go, is all. I just thought it would be nice to have someone I knew there. And you know, maybe you would want to come. To the party, I mean. With me?” Steve trails off and glances hopefully at Bucky.

Bucky watches the man dig himself a deeper hole with every word. He’s holding back a laugh at being invited to the birthday party at all, along with Steve genuinely wanting him to come. The invitation is tempting, but he’s held a very delicate social place on Marvel since he has arrived and going to Wanda and Pietro’s birthday would open a can of worms that Bucky is ready to have sealed for all of eternity. Socializing means friends, and friends means people that will actually care about him and his business. He isn’t too sure if that’s what he wants ever again.

“Listen, Steve,” Bucky starts lowly, and Steve’s face falls with the oncoming rejection.

“I get it, it’s okay. It was stupid of me to ask,” Steve says, hooking one leg over the railing. He starts to untie his rope from Bucky’s vessel, face flaming. “You might have something else going on, which is normal. It’s a Saturday, after all.”

“Steve, that’s not-”

“No, no! It’s really all right,” Steve rushes with an eerily fake smile. Bucky wants to wipe it off his face because it doesn’t belong there with Steve’s usual cheery look. Bucky feels helpless as he watches Steve jump back into the safety of his rowboat and pull his rope free from Bucky’s vessel. With all of the literature Bucky consumes on a daily basis, he should know how symbolic this is.

“I’ll uh, see you around? I guess?” Steve says, grabbing the oars in both hands and pushing away. Bucky wants to open his mouth and say anything useful, like how he’s a stupid idiot, not Steve, or that the guy’s still wearing Bucky’s ridiculous bucket hat. Instead, he just stands and watches as Steve moves further and further away. 

The ocean took Bucky away from his hometown for a good reason. He needed a fresh start, a clean slate, wiping everything away. That was a necessity and Bucky knows his life would have been worthless if he stayed there any longer than he had. But now, the ocean seems to be taking Bucky away from something for no good reason other than Bucky’s stupid insecurities. With every inch Steve moves further away, Bucky has more of an urge to open his mouth that’s somehow glued shut and scream for him to come back so he can explain; explain that he should stay far away from Bucky because he’s fucked up and impossible to love. That even a friendship is draining and fake. That he won’t be good enough for Steve’s wondrous blue eyes. 

Instead of bringing Bucky to an oasis, the ocean is drowning him with the distance. 

The blue water between their boats is too long to call out to him now and Bucky is panicking with regret. 

He raises his arm in a big wave, hoping to catch Steve’s attention. Whether Steve sees it or not, he doesn’t wave back.


	3. The Advice

Bucky pretends like everything is fine for a few days, going about his week like he normally would while boiling with some kind of emotion underneath the surface.

He takes his frustration out by ranting to the stray that has now taken to living inside his house. Therapy is expensive, but ranting to creatures that don’t understand a word you’re saying is completely free. He's formed an unlikely companion in the filthy creature, so much that he named the damn thing a few days ago.

"I'm twenty five years old, Scram. I shouldn't be behaving like a schoolboy with a crush," Bucky explains helplessly to the ugly cat sitting on his windowsill. It watches him with disinterest, slowly licking its paw and rubbing behind its ears. Bucky continues on by saying, "Am I really that much of a coward? He's hot. And by hot, I mean he's the most attractive man I've ever set eyes on. That has to be some sort of record, right? Bradley Cooper and Hugh Jackman exist but if I had to choose between those two and Steve in Fuck, Marry, Kill, I would kill Bradley over fucking him. That's messed up. God, I'm a goner."

Bucky slumps onto his bed and huffs out an annoyed breath before grabbing his flimsy pillow and groaning into it. "This is so stupid! Back me up here," Bucky says, searching Scram's muddy eyes for some kind of sign. He's met with no emotion. Of course.

"I should just go to this stupid party. What's the big deal? It's not like I have an issue with Wanda and Pietro."

Scram pushes a small glass full of toothpicks off the windowsill and they scatter on the floor. Bucky watches the scene disdainfully.

"I don't know why I let you in anymore. You just cause me stress," Bucky complains. If Scram could flip him off, he's probably doing it right this moment.

"What do you wanna eat, huh? Canned tuna?" Scram doesn't respond, but Bucky opens a can anyway and sets it on the counter. The only food he keeps constantly stocked are cans of tuna.

Wednesday is rainy and sad. Bucky watches the waves crash against the shore like a monster clawing its way out from the ocean. His proximity to the ocean should be alarming, but if the waves swept him out to sea and had their way with him, would it really be all that bad?

Thursday finds Bucky skirting around the outskirts of town avoiding every person in sight. He fashioned a bag from a few old, torn up shirts that he had laying around instead of his usual baskets to avoid painting a target on his back. Bucky convinced himself that he's hiding from strangers to stay away from any unwanted conversation but deep down he knows who he's avoiding and he's approximately six foot two with blazing blue eyes and he's built like a tank… oh shit.

Bucky peers through a strand of trees from his vantage point and stares at the man that's been on his mind all week. Steve is near the town's community well, kicking a ball around with a few local children. The kids are all screaming with laughter but Steve's smile is what makes Bucky's heart melt. The guy is pure goodness, but Bucky isn’t allowing himself to touch the artwork. It’s too good to be true. Watching Steve play-tackle one of the kids solidifies that he would be selling himself short of he truly tried to pursue something with Bucky. He pushes a stray fern out of his way to get a better look.

A rustling in the trees behind Bucky makes him whip his head around, fern forgotten.

Bucky places a hand over his racing heart and exhales, “Fuck, you scared me.”

Natasha’s knowing smirk tells him just how long she has been standing there. “Something you need to get off your chest, Barnes?”

Bucky rolls his shoulders and stands a little straighter. “Not particularly. You don’t look like sound like my therapist - she didn't jump to conclusions.”

Natasha crosses her arms over her chest and cocks her head. “Oh? I never mentioned jumping to any sort of conclusion. I’m just observing you obviously checking out Wonder Boy out there. And inadvertently tying your unusually cheery personality to his living on Marvel. And how-”

 

“Stop! I get it. Just- can you keep it to yourself? It’s never going to happen,” Bucky says and Natasha looks at him like he’s stupid.

“You’re an idiot, but I respect your idiocy. Want to come over for tea?”

Bucky sighs. He really doesn’t, but getting on Natasha’s good side could cover his ass a little bit, so he begrudgingly nods his head and follows her lead back to her house. Natasha’s family moved to Marvel from Russia, where they owned a family farm. Her grandmother has had a weird, faraway look in her eyes ever since her husband passed away a few months ago. Natasha bought her own house a few years ago, but once her grandfather passed away, her grandmother started to live with her. No one knows what happened to her actual parents. Natasha likes to tell a different story every time someone brings it up, sculpting tales of great mercenaries and impoverished beggars. His favorite story was when Natasha said her parents were both lonely widows, each lost a loved one to a terrible sickness. She said they met at a dairy farm where they were both searching for work. The man who owned the farm sent them away, but they became partners and opened their own farm together. That story ended with them silently passing away in their sleep due to an unknown illness. If Bucky were to ever fall in love, he would want to die alongside his loved one like that.

Mrs. Romanov is crocheting a dainty, white hat when Bucky and Natasha enter. She doesn’t look up when Natasha greets her in Russian, so Bucky follows her silently to the kitchen. Natasha’s house is nicer than Bucky’s, like most of Marvel. Her walls are decorated with paintings from local artists and pictures of her family and friends. Bucky spots a few pictures of her and Clint smiling on a kayak. A row of shelves are stacked with ornaments and wood sculptures. A Russian nesting doll watches over the sink next to a vibrant houseplant.

“Decaf?” Natasha asks.

“Always,” Bucky responds. She seems to remember everything about him, down to the time he let his birthday slip and she bought him a bouquet of flowers when he came to pick up his milk. The fact that he gets jittery and nervous when he drinks caffeine hasn’t escaped her either. He wonders if she’s secretly a mind reader who can see through his skull, directly into his head and his thoughts. He focus really hard and tries to send Natasha a message to add sugar to his tea. She pours sugar in her own mug before adding some to Bucky’s. Damn. Maybe she really is a mind reader.

“So tell me a little about this crush,” Natasha says, bringing Bucky back from his thoughts. He groans. This is not what he wants to talk about.

“It’s nothing, just a little infatuation that isn’t reciprocated. That’s it,” Bucky says, hoping to have some kind of finite quality to his tone. Natasha doesn’t budge.

“Looks like more than an infatuation. Looks almost like… Oh wait! A crush.”

“You’re insufferable.”

Natasha pulls a chair out at her kitchen table and sits across from Bucky, holding her mug in both hands and grinning through the steam. “I know. Spill.”

 

Bucky pulls his mug closer and takes a tentative sip. The tea burns, but it feels good sliding down his throat. “He seems bent on getting to know me, but you know I’m not one for unwanted attention.”

 

Natasha hums, “This attention isn’t unwanted though, is it?” 

Damn her for knowing everything. “It doesn’t matter. I have a careful balance here that consists of me living my life in near isolation and he’s bursting that bubble. He invited me to Wanda and Pietro’s party this weekend as his plus one.”

“Shit, I forgot that was this weekend,” Natasha says, glancing at a forest-themed calendar hanging next to her pantry. “Did you say yes? Clint and I are going. It would be fun to finally drag you out with us.”

“No, I didn’t say yes. But I also didn’t quite say no.”

“Confusing, but I’m intrigued. Go on, you have my attention,” she urges, sipping her tea and crossing her legs. She has an elegance to her that Bucky has been jealous of ever since he landed on Marvel.

“I was kind of preparing to let him down slowly, and he took it as a massive rejection. Ran away before I could tell him I wanted to go. Honestly, it’s for the best,” Bucky explains. Natasha watches him with scrutinizing eyes and it makes Bucky want to shrink back through his seat into the floorboards.

“How is it for the best?”

“No offense Nat,” Bucky starts, “But you don’t know me. Steve needs to set his sights elsewhere and find someone that’s good for him. I can’t be that.”

Natasha sets her mug lightly on the wooden table and the soft thunk echoes through the kitchen. Bucky can hear the quiet clicking of Mrs. Romanov’s needles working in the other room. Natasha blinks at him like a stupid puppy.

“How do you know what’s best for him?”

Her green eyes are searching, too intense for Bucky to look at for too long. It feels like she can see right through him. He studies her wooden floor instead, the little knots in the wood and the scratches etched into the boards from people sliding chairs across it. Old, used, loved. She has guests over often, he assumes. The wood creaks as he leans back in his chair and he looks her in the eyes again. She seems softer than when she first asked the question.

“I have dirt floors,” is all Bucky says back.

Natasha considers his response. Bucky can see the wheels turning in her head, trying to connect dirt floors to knowing what’s best for Steve. The answer must be too vague to her, because she offers Bucky an opening to explain himself. “You do.”

 

Bucky clasps his hands together in his lap. “I have dirt floors and I’m happy with that. I have a raggedy old stray cat and I’m happy with that. No one comes over, and I’m extremely happy with that.” Natasha quirks a smile and gives him a little shrug, acknowledging his truthfulness. Bucky continues, “Steve isn’t the kind of guy that wants to live with someone like that. He wears khakis and has the personality of a golden retriever. Golden retrievers need big houses to live in, Nat. I have nothing to offer the poor guy. Not a single emotion.”

“Seems like you have some emotion to offer right now,” she states.

Bucky watches his hands blur together and clear again as a drop falls on his skin. Great, now he’s crying. What the fuck is going on?

“There’s some other shit I went through a while back. I’ve got baggage,” Bucky says, staying vague. If he spills his guts to Natasha, she would endlessly come to check up on him and he just wants to be left alone. Natasha seems to share his love for not sharing.

“Maybe you need to give this guy some credit. I heard he paddled all the way out to your boat yesterday, that takes a certain kind of spirit,” she says, nudging his foot with her own, “I mean, who would want to paddle all the way out to the other side of the island to see your ugly mug?”

 

Bucky gives her a wet laugh and shrugs. Maybe Natasha has a point.

“I think you should go to the party Saturday. If you need an easy out, Clint and I have your back. I can get Clint wasted and have you walk him home. Problem solved.”

Bucky thinks about all the ways that plan could possibly go wrong. Clint is a grabby and annoying drunk while Natasha is constantly scheming. The thought of going to the party in the first place makes Bucky want to vomit, but maybe seeing Steve’s face outweighs the cons.

“Okay,” Bucky near-whispers.

“What was that?”

“I said okay, you witch. Let me wallow.”

Natasha grins. “Good. See you Saturday, then.”

After Bucky left Natasha’s house feeling overwhelmed and confused, he meandered around town for a few more hours. Marvel has many boutiques and gift shops for tourists to visit, but Bucky likes the east side of town where they sell boating gear. The shop owners don’t know Bucky very well since he owns all of the gear he needs, but sometimes he’ll walk past the store windows and look at the displays of kayaks and canoes. From time to time he’ll be possessed and buy a pair of ugly looking water shoes that get torn up by razor sharp coral the next day, but the shoes are fun while they last. Bucky is casually peering into the glass at some wood canoes when something deeper within the store catches his eye.

It’s a paddleboard.

Bucky squints at it. Is this a passing urge because he’s feeling upset, or does he truly, deep down inside his heart, want a paddleboard? The board is light blue and gorgeous, practically sparkling inside the store. A little look couldn’t hurt, right?

The door squeaks when he opens it, and a worker inside the shop is immediately on his heels. Great.

“My name’s Brock, is there anything I can help you with today?”

Bucky tries to shake the guy with a pathetic, “Just looking,” but the guy doesn’t stop following him. He walks around the shop, pretending to look at different waxes and accessories before stopping in front of the paddleboard in all of its glory. The thing is massive, perfect for a tall guy. The color looks even better without the window between them. Bucky wants it.

“See anything you like?” The guy--Brock--asks. Bucky furrows his eyebrows. The guy doesn’t seem like he’s asking Bucky specifically about the paddleboard, even though it seems that way. With a quick glance to his side, Bucky sizes up the owner. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Bucky, with cropped and styled brown hair. He has stubble lining his jaw. Bucky can quickly spot a tattoo peeking out from underneath the guy’s t-shirt sleeve. He’s the exact opposite of what Bucky wants to flirt with, too close to what he would have settled for a few years ago.

“As I said, I’m only looking,” Bucky says with an edge to his tone.

Brock leans against a kayak display and crosses his arms against his broad chest. Honest to God, he looks like a supermodel. Bucky wants to throw up.

“I’m also looking,” Brock says, giving Bucky a thorough once-over that makes Bucky’s skin crawl. He hates unwanted attention. He hates attention in general, and this guy is giving him a bad vibe.

“I ain’t looking for that.”

Brock snorts. “How about a number and a promise for dinner and a little dessert afterwards?” He’s inching towards Bucky now, like a predator honing in on its prey. Bucky turns to walk away, not wanting a fight, but the paddleboard is blocking his path. His back touches its cool surface and suddenly it feels like there’s no air in Bucky’s lungs. His hands begin to shake.

“Stop,” Bucky tries, but Brock just takes another step forward, closing in on him.

“C’mon baby, let me take you out. I’d be proud to have a man like you on my arm.”

Bucky puts his hands up, trying to keep some form of distance between them. He probably looks pathetic, shaking and scared. He's been in this situation before. Bucky’s blood is pounding through his veins. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to be here. He doesn't want to be-

“What are you doing?”

Brock’s head spins to look at the stranger. Bucky feels the air rush back into his lungs, just to leave again when he looks at the guy interrupting them.

Of fucking course it’s Steve Rogers. The gods have blessed and cursed him.

“What’s it to you?” Brock asks Steve, raising a challenging eyebrow. Steve stands his ground, squaring his shoulders.

“What’s it to me? The man is clearly telling you to stop. Isn’t that a clue that he’s not into you?” Steve says with anger dripping from his tongue. While Bucky would never fuck Brock, he could definitely make out with Steve with a mouth like that.

“What the fuck do you know?” Brock shoots back, face getting red. His fists curl at his sides and he turns to completely face Steve. The blond is just as agitated, shaking with boiling rage.

“I should kick your teeth in right here,” Steve threatens through gritted teeth.

“I’d like to see you try, puss-”

“What is going on here?” 

Steve and Brock both look to the owner of the voice. It’s an older man, with dark skin and a gruesome looking eye injury underneath a slipping eyepatch. The man fixes the eyepatch before pointing his finger at Brock. 

“You. With me,” He turns to look between Bucky and Steve. “You get fifty percent off anything in this goddamn store. I’m sorry about my employee, he always seems to cause a scene.” Bucky hears a heavy slap as the man’s hand lands on Brock’s shoulder, but the brunet doesn’t flinch. He just eyes Bucky hungrily and casts Steve warning looks.

The man walks away, dragging Brock with a heavy hand against the back of his neck, and Bucky blinks at Steve. He’s breathing hard, clenching his jaw. Bucky has only seen Steve’s cheery side, all smiles, laughs, and blushes. Now, Steve’s flushed red but in an angry way.

“Do you want that paddleboard?” Steve manages after a lengthy silence. Bucky stares at him with wide eyes and nods his head, mute. Steve looks at the price tag before waving a young girl over.

“We’ll take this. Half off.”

The girl, who obviously watched the events unfold earlier, doesn’t question giving it to them half off. A few minutes later, Bucky and Steve walk out of the store carrying the paddleboard under their arms. Steve’s wallet has a large amount of money missing from it.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bucky says.

“Of course I did, that guy was harassing you! I hate scum like that. Absolutely disgusting,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky blushes. “No, I mean the paddleboard. I didn’t need it, I was honestly just looking.”

“Yeah, looking like you wanted it.”

Bucky huffs. “Whatever.” They walk a minute in silence, only the gentle crunch of their shoes against gravel filling their ears before Bucky says, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Where are we lugging this thing?”

The question catches Bucky off guard, so much that he nearly drops his end of the paddleboard. Steve can't come with him to his house. Steve just fought for Bucky's last shred of dignity. Once that little shack pops up through the trees, Steve is going to turn right on his heel and run as fast as he can in the opposite direction.

"Buck?"

Bucky fumbles with his grip on the paddleboard, playing it off. "Uh… you know, why don't you take it back to Wanda's and I'll just ride it back to my house tomorrow? It's getting dark and I don't want you to get lost on your way back."

"It's no big deal, I know my way around at this point. Just lead me in the right direction," Steve says, taking another step towards the fork in the road that will lead to Bucky's house.

"Really, Steve. I'm worried," Bucky pulls lightly at the paddleboard, making Steve trip over himself.

Steve turns around with a concerned look. "Are you all right? I don't see what the big deal is. I'm just trying to help you out. Could you please let me do something nice for you right now?"

Bucky opens his mouth to come up with a retort, but he snaps it shut. The sun is setting on the horizon and he wants Steve back at Wanda's before the hooligan college kids come out to play at night. It would be safer for Steve that way, but at what cost?

Bucky sighs and nods his head to the left side of the fork. Steve marches onwards.

The forest gets thicker the deeper you head down the dirt road, only because Bucky is too lazy to trim the trees and bushes back and he doesn't really want anyone coming down this way anyway. Steve's shoe gets caught on a stray root but he catches himself quickly. Bucky would laugh, but his anxiety is getting the best of him, singing through his veins.

Through the foliage Bucky can spot his dingy lamp shining near his door. It has always been a shining beacon of home, but now it just seems like it's mocking him.

Steve must spot it too. "The light?"

"Yeah," Bucky grumbles.

They push through the last of the trees and make it into Bucky's clearing. Bucky holds his breath. This is the part where Steve stares at Bucky's house and asks where his actual house is. The part where Steve makes a snarky comment about not having much of an improvement compared to his mother's basement. He's supposed to laugh and walk away with his hands up, giving up.

Steve doesn't do any of that. He turns to look at Bucky over his shoulder with a smile and asks, "Where do you want it?"

Bucky's soul promptly enters his body again and he's finally able to respond, "The back."

They walk around to the back of Bucky's house and set it against the wooden wall. Steve runs the kinks out of his hands and gives Bucky a gentle smile.

"You have a really awesome backyard," Steve notes, gesturing to the churning ocean.

Bucky bites his lip. "Yeah, it's pretty great."

They watch the waves crash against the shore for a few moments before Steve sighs. "I should probably get back to Wanda's. I told her I'd be back by now."

"Yeah, don't want her to worry or anything."

Steve gives Bucky a sidelong glance. Now would be the perfect time to tell him that you've manned up, Barnes. The moment can't get better than this.

"I have something-"

"I'm sorry-"

They both chuckle, cutting off their sentences. Bucky smiles. "You go first," he offers, making a wide gesture to Steve.

Steve gives Bucky a sad look. "I'm sorry that happened to you today. That guy had no right to treat you like that and you didn't deserve it. I just wanted to tell you that, and I hope you believe it. What were you going to say?"

Bucky wrings his hands out in front of him. The butterflies crawling around inside him feel like they're chewing away at his stomach lining, ready to burst out.

"I uh- I wanted to say that I'm sorry too. For what I said the other day, kind of." Steve gives Bucky a confused look, so the brunet continues on. "I didn't mean to make you think I didn't want to go with you. I just have a hard time making friends or whatever. I do want to go to the party on Saturday."

Steve's eyes light up in the lamplight. Bucky's wishful thinking is making his eyes play tricks on him, because he can swear there's a blush riding along Steve's cheeks and down beneath his collar. 

"I'm glad you decided to go," Steve says sincerely. He lays a gentle hand on Bucky's shoulder and the man almost melts from the gesture.

"Thank you for the paddleboard. I'll see you Saturday?" Bucky wanted that question to come out casual, but his voice squeaks at the end.

Steve squeezes his shoulder. "Saturday. See you around, Buck."

Steve trips his way back through the brush to the dirt road before looking back at Bucky one more time with his all-American smile.

Bucky waves.

Steve waves back.

**Author's Note:**

> It's me. I'm Bucky Barnes.
> 
> Leave kudos & comments or just deprive me of attention altogether! You're in charge mon amour.


End file.
